Head First
by ARBliss
Summary: Harry has a crush-on one of his supposed "brothers."  A hopefully charming look at life for the Savior after he is done trying to save people and just trying to be himself.  Rated M for later chapters and for a male/male relationship.
1. The Mistake

A/N: I guess these should all start with one of these. This chapter can stand alone, but I am working on expanding it. I got the idea from someone else's fic (I don't know if I should say who, because I am about to criticize it) but I was reading it and it had a good idea for a romance between Harry and George, but it jumped in event after event after event, with no character development or contemplation. This is my attempt to fix it for myself.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of it. Obviously.

Harry stared at the tall, slightly tilted old house he had come to regard as home. The Burrow looked as careworn as ever and bursting at the seams. Through the windows he could see well-lit rooms packed with red-heads. This was the first time in years he had hesitated to enter.

"Oy! Potter!" A tall man with twinkling blue eyes stuck his head out the front door. "Are you going to come in or keep admiring the view."

If the man himself, George Weasley, was said view, Harry would be happy to keep admiring it. George didn't know that he was the reason Harry was so slow to enter. Years of being George's kid-brother's best friend and turned into genuine friendship. While Harry expected to be friends with the rambunctious twins, he hadn't expected to find himself so drawn to one half of the infamous duo.

George's brother joined him in the doorway. "Aw, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the towering splendor! Didja notice the extra layer mum's added? It's _yours _oh favored seventh son."

"What? Mum didn't add an extra story for us?" George protested in mock-offense.

"She doesn't love us as much as ickle Harry-kins." Fred retorted. The two settled into a banter, moving quickly away from Harry's presence to the state of their mother's love for them. Harry took that opportunity to admire the dimple that formed on George's left cheek when he grinned, and the quirk of an eyebrow that Fred lacked. He had worked hard to tell the two apart as their friendship had blossomed and reaped the benefits in being able to foil their plots against him. Admiration led to another round of contemplation on the unintended consequences of being friends with the pranksters and his current massive boy-crush.

Stop. He told himself. No-one can know. With this reaffirmation, he shouldered his way past the still arguing pair and into the warm kitchen that was Molly Weasley's domain.

Almost immediately he found two sets of arms around him as both Hermione and Ginny converged. "Happy Christmas!" was shouted from several directions, and glasses were raised in welcome. Molly stepped forward, wrapping him in a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Harry, darling, you look cold…and thin. Let me get you something dear." She promptly bustled back toward the stove, in full mother mode. "Didn't greet us like that" he heard one twin mutter, setting the two off again.

Harry ignored them as he took the proffered drink and settled at the chessboard Ron has waiting for them. Harry was still the only one Ron could sucker into playing, and he didn't mind losing over and over again. Especially not with the view it afforded of the Fred and George holding court in the center of the living room. As a wild arm motion lifted George's shirt and exposed two inches of freckled stomach, Harry was glad for the drink and cursing the view. He downed the homemade eggnog in one gulp. And felt a little dizzy. This was the Weasley house, he reminded himself, and the punch was probably double spiked. Best to lay off it. But another glimpse of George's torso as he repeated the motion for another laugh led to Harry grabbing another glass almost immediately.

If he wasn't going to get laid, he was going to get drunk.

Two hours later found Harry losing abysmally to Ron for the sixth time that evening. It had gotten so pathetic for his best friend that Ron was listening to Hermione's lecture on the origin of the mistletoe rather than trounce Harry again. Or he was listening to Hermione's lecture out of hope that she would demonstrate the tradition on him. Harry was beginning to suspect the latter, which didn't help his wounded pride.

He scanned the room, watching Tonks change forms from a shapely blond to a petite brunette, Charlie Weasley drooling all the while. Bill and Remus held an earnest conversation, punctuated by lots of violent hand movements on Bill's part and reassuring pats on Remus'. Fleur had taken up her usual sulking position, alienated from the family she married into, though her heavily pregnant belly brought Molly by more often than usual. Arthur and Ginny were hunched over a phonograph, trying to get it to crank out some century old muggle music. And Fred was…without George?

Harry stopped abruptly and stared. He knew he was staring, of course, but couldn't remember having seen one twin not tethered to the other. He knew they must separate, as Fred was rather enthusiastically dating Angelina Johnson, an old flame from their school days, but had never witnessed it. And where was George?

While the logical answer was probably the loo, Harry was too sloshed to be logical. Stumbling to his feet, he set out on a quest for the missing Weasley. Through the kitchen and down the narrow winding hallway. Opening doors at random, sticking his head in and finding them George-free, Harry continued onward. Up the first flight of creaky stairs, he let out a hesitant "George?" He turned the corner and ran smack into a figure coming out of the bathroom.

"Steady on, Mate," George grinned as he grabbed Harry's shirtfront to prevent him from falling back down the stairs.

"Oh, I am steady," Harry responded. With this completely nonsensical response, he leaned forward, compensating for gravity and tried to land a kiss on George. What he ended up doing was landing on George, his strength combing with George's to propel them both to the bathroom floor.

Connected at the lips anyway, Harry thought he was in heaven. He was kissing George Weasley. Who wasn't kissing him back.

He was kissing George Weasley. Shit.

"Um, mistletoe?" He offered lamely. Adrenaline making him sober, he retreated back down the stairs and out the door as fast as he could, ignoring the gobsmacked expression on George's face, ignoring the questions being called after him, intent only putting as much distance between himself and his stupidity as possible.

"Thanks for dinner," he threw over his shoulder at Mrs. Weasley.

He brushed off Hermione at the door, with a quick "I'll see you tomorrow."

He knew, as he Apparated back into his own flat, from those blissful seconds of a kiss, that he was completely and utterly in love with George Weasley. He knew, from George's frozen expression and stiff body, that he was completely and utterly screwed.

Read and Review: Except for flames about slash, I welcome all criticism.


	2. Hermione Granger is Always Right

_Usual disclaimer, etc._

A blinding ray of light shone through Harry's window directly across his eyelids, forcing them open. Another morning, another stiffy.

It had been four days since The Incident, as Harry had dubbed it, capital letters and all. Harry had not left his flat, closed his floo and moped. Well, moped and wanked. Somehow, the mere kiss had turned his crush up about five levels and Harry could not stop thinking about it. He didn't know if he could face George ever again. Especially not with the revulsion and pity that was sure to be in his eyes after The Incident.

Well that was an erection killer, Harry thought as he stumbled toward the kitchen instead of the shower. Thinking about how disgusted George must be put him back into a morose mood and he planned to make himself a cup of tea and watch Titanic over and over again until it stopped hurting. Which would be never.

As he stood over the kettle, he heard the familiar tapping of an owl at his window, and looked up to see Pig flitting spastically outside. Inspecting the envelope to make sure it was not a Howler, he let the little owl zoom around his kitchen. Immediately regretting the course of action, he hopped after it, jumping randomly and finally snatching the bird out of the air. The outside of the envelope was addressed in Hermione's precise writing. Safe, he concluded.

Sitting down at the table, he opened the envelope, only to see a sixpence fall out. Instinctively, he caught it, then immediately felt the tug of a Portkey.

Meddlesome witch, he thought as the world spun out of control. Should have had the shower first.

Just a few agonizing seconds later, he found himself deposited in Hermione and Ron's neat kitchen. The other two members of the famous "Golden Trio" had married almost immediately after the war. On the battlefield, in a moment of reckless victory, Ron had scooped Hermione into his arms and into a passionate kiss. "Marry me," he had demanded fiercely, then spent the rest of the cleanup and various celebrations looking happily dazed that she had actually said yes. They had been married about two months later in the least planned event Hermione Granger had ever participated in. Looking around their kitchen now, Harry was envious of the subtle, low maintenance comfort they had created together.

Hermione sat in a sturdy kitchen chair in an absolutely hideous bright Orange Chudley Cannon's dressing gown, two cups of steaming tea in front of her. She said nothing, only raising a single telling eyebrow. Harry blamed Blaise Zabini, who worked in the Department of Mysteries with Hermione, for that purely Slytherin gesture.

Grumbling, Harry pulled himself off the floor and settled across from Hermione, pulling one of the chipped mugs toward himself.

"What?" He demanded peevishly. The eyebrow raised a little higher. "It was an accident…I was drunk?"

The last bit came out more like a question than Harry would have liked and caused Hermione's eyebrow to inch higher. "How long have you been in love with George?" she asked bluntly.

Harry, who thought the eyebrow was the only response to his not-quite declaration, promptly choked on the sip of tea had taken. "I'm not in love with George! Where would you get such a crazy idea? I just broke up with Ginny! I like girls!" He actually hadn't meant to say this last bit, it had come out in the rush of denials.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione finally lost her cool composure. "God will strike you down for telling such lies!"

"You don't believe in God," Harry retorted, finally on some comfortable ground.

"There are times," Hermione replied gravely, "no man is an atheist. On their deathbed, in a foxhole, and when Harry Potter claims to be straight.*"

Harry had no response, having come out to Hermione shortly after breaking up with Ginny the first time. He chose to sulk instead. Her expression softened slightly. He slumped further and aimed for a pout.

"Oh, fine," Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

"I was drunk," Harry explained with more dignity this time. "I'm pretty sure Fred and George put something in the eggnog. I went upstairs to use the loo and ran into George. Literally ran into! I was drunk, lost my balance and we connected at the lips. That's all."

Hermione contemplated him for another few seconds before nodding. "That's pretty much what George had figured. I'll tell him that's what happened. But you have to answer my question."

"What?"

"How long have you been in love with George Weasley?" Hermione repeated her question from earlier and Harry knew she wanted a real answer. He had never been able to hide anything from her, and it was probably a miracle she hadn't picked up on his crush sooner.

"I just realized it last night, but since the Halloween party, I guess." He replied.

"It was the leather pants that did it?" Hermione asked with a wicked grin.

"It was the leather pants that did what?" Ron chose that moment to walk through the door. Harry opened his mouth for all different kinds of denials, but Ron barged on. "That Harry realized he'd spent the last four months drooling over George?"

Now both Harry and Hermione stared, gape-mouthed. Ronald 'Emotional Range of a Teaspoon' Weasley had made an accurate observation about romantic emotions. Ron scowled at their expressions of disbelief. "I'm not that bad! I passed 'Observe and Report' in training. Besides, we spent that weekend on stake-out and you talk in your sleep."

Harry turned bright red and Hermione beamed. Getting up, she handed Ron her cup of tea with a peck on the cheek. "I love you," was all she said as she began pulling out ingredients to make pancakes.

"O-kay" Ron looked confused again, but plowed on. "Were you really drunk or just figured that was your chance?"

"We're not talking about this," Harry said, aiming for a tone of finality.

"Alright mate, but we should probably have our stories straight when he starts to take the mickey out of you."

"Shit," Harry had, in the embarrassment of facing his best friends, forgotten about everyone else's reactions and the twin's inability to let any awkward or horrifying event pass by without an array of comments and jokes. They still teased Ron about his fourth year dress robes and Harry for his "wet" kiss with Cho. He was doomed. "I'll never go back to the Burrow." He vowed.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione opened the flour with a fwoom and Ron, realizing what was happening, shooed her back to the table. Somehow, Hermione's potion skills had not translated to the kitchen, but Ron had inherited his mother's cooking genes. "You have to face him at some point." She continued practically. "You have to tell him how you feel."

"Absolutely not," Harry shook his head. "I am not telling my best friend's straight brother that I have a big gay crush on him like I'm some kind of twelve year old girl."

"Technically," Ron pointed out, "twelve year old girls don't have big gay crushes. Unless they're into other chicks." Harry glared and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort.

"What Ron is trying to say," Hermione cut in, "Is that you are an honest person and hiding this is against your nature. You have to tell him."

"No," Harry repeated for what seemed like the tenth time. "We are not telling him. I will not get drunk, not do anything stupid and this will go away."

"Alright," Hermione conceded reluctantly. Then her eyes lit up again, with something that would have foretold hours of color coded NEWT studying in their school days. "You should find a boyfriend! I know a great guy at work…"

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He might not like the idea, but knew he would give in. There was no stopping Hermione, and maybe he could stop thinking about George.

"Fine, I'll go" he said. Both Hermione and Ron beamed.

_A/N: The * line is from a Harry/Draco fic I don't remember. I tried not to use it because I can't give proper credit, but it just stuck with me. Besides, this is a story based off a fanfic based off a published novel, so I doubt one more plagiarism is going to kill me. _

_Next Chapter, facing George and Harry's blind date!_


	3. Harry Potter's Love Juice

_I have George Weasley handcuffed to my headboard. I will be playing connect the dots with his freckles. Ms. Rowling can keep the rest._

* * *

This is it, Harry told himself. The moment of truth. Just walk through that door and lie your head off.

He practiced the lines one more time to himself: George! Fred! Quite the Christmas Party, eh? What'd you put in the eggnog? I can't remember a thing. Been hearing some crazy stories though…the things people do when they're drunk….

The words sounded fake, even in his head. He was never going to pull this off. He should have just let Hermione explain it, then ignore the whole thing. He wasn't going in. He was turning around, pretending he hadn't come. He was…

"Harry!"

…Being ushered inside by two very strong sets of arms before he had a chance to protest. He tried running through his lines quickly while squirming to escape. The actions made him feel like he was twelve again, about to be force-fed Canary Creams. "I was so drunk christmas party great remember crazy, eh?" Was what came out of his mouth in a rushed garbled mess.

"Of course," Fred responded with a laugh. "George showed me what he spiked it with later. That was some awesome stuff! We're going to put it into a Valentine's Day line! I'd only wished we'd gotten a picture, better for advertising. Harry Potter Love Juice is the working title. Not clever yet, but it's coming along. Besides, Boy-saviors sell, oh not so silent partner!"

It was odd to hear such a long monologue from one of the twins, without any type of interruption, interjection or narrative take over. Harry glanced over at George who was grinning as well. Something was off.

Before he had a chance to really think about it though, he was whisked further into the bowels of the shop and deposited on the stool that was the oasis of calm in an otherwise havoc filled room. The corner of the table next to him had twisted into a gnarled branch, causing the shimmering purple liquid spilled over the table's surface to run in rivulets down its crevices. Shelves were crammed with mechanical objects and stuffed boxes filled with things Harry would rather not speculate about. A large pile of books were stacked precariously in the corner, singed textbooks, warped notebooks and overcrowded file folders all piled like a Jenga tower. After guiding him through the chaos, George went over to the books, running his hands down the spine, trying to pick a needle out of a haystack, while Fred settled himself at the table, spelling liquid back into a beaker.

"So, you still coming over for Christmas?" Fred asked. He waggled his eyebrows, in his signature Fred Weasley style. "We promise no eggnog!"

Harry laughed nervously. On one hand, he was relieved they were so willing to let the incident go. On the other hand, he had been expecting some type of serious reaction, some type of response from George. That none was forthcoming hurt in a way that was almost worse than a negative response would have. "Yeah, and I'm coming over Friday to help decorate."

"Great! Dinner's at 6pm. Mum's making a new recipe she found in Witch Weekly." George responded, still focused on the books.

"Christmas Stew is all she'll call it," Fred added. "We're taking bets on whether it's as dodgy as it sounds."

"Oh," Harry paused, debating whether or not to tell them. "I'm coming after dinner."

"Oooo," the eyebrow waggle was returning with a vengeance. "Harry Potter's got a hot date! Who's the lucky lady?"

"Someone Hermione works with," Harry had gone slightly pink. George had stopped his search and was now looking at him with an expression that Harry couldn't interpret. "Blind date."

"Ooooo," Fred repeated. "Hermione Granger: braniac, babysitter, wife to our darling baby brother and now match-maker! Is there anything that girl can't do?"

"Was it blackmail or bribery?" George joined in now. "Luring the reclusive Savior out amongst his adoring fans."

"Blackmail," Harry responded without thinking. Four eyebrows shot up.

"Wow, that was some eggnog!" Fred joked. He opened his mouth again for what would probably have been another avalanche of teasing, but was interrupted by a loud belch from the room above them. Without a second look, both Fred and George bolted up the stairs and Harry took the opportunity to escape. Friday was going to be bad enough without having to look forward to the inquisition when he got back.

* * *

_It's a short chapter. I'm still not totally happy with this initial confrontation, and I'm having some trouble in transitioning to the crux of the problem (it surprisingly isn't Harry's massive gay crush) Next installment is the Date and Harry's Weasley Family Outing (yay for bad puns!) also Harry's initial response is supposed to be a garbled mess of the initial script but the formatting is planning on killing me..._


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